


Mockingjay Temple

by evvykurler



Category: Hunger Games Series - All Media Types
Genre: Angst, Character Death, F/M, Immortality, Magic, Plague, curse
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-04-07
Updated: 2019-04-07
Packaged: 2020-01-06 10:21:08
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,093
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18386495
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/evvykurler/pseuds/evvykurler
Summary: In ancient times, grief-stricken Katniss challenges a goddess and is severely punished with immortality.But what, or who, can break the curse?





	Mockingjay Temple

**Author's Note:**

> I do not own The Hunger Games by Suzanne Collins, and this story is not for profit.

The smell of wet earth is everywhere as my sister and I pick herbs in our garden. Prim quickly and deliberately selects the fragrant plants, then adds them to the growing pile in her basket. I kneel beside her, breaking the stems of rosemary and lavender. Beyond the low stone wall of our garden I can see our neighbor’s chickens pecking in the dust. The sun has just begun to set over the hill, its light catching on the spires of the temple.

“Darius stopped by yesterday,” Prim says. “He was asking for you.”

I frown. We traded at the market yesterday; I bought new arrows from him for the price of two squirrels. There is no reason for him to be visiting me at home.

“What did he want?”

“Oh, he didn’t say. But I told him to bring flowers next time.” Prim looks at me out of the corner of her eye with a teasing smile.

“Don’t start this again,” I warn.

“C’mon, you must think about boys sometime,” she whines.

I tilt my head in mock thought. “Well…” I squint my eyes and Prim looks with excitement at me. I tap a finger against my chin, surely leaving a smudge of dirt.

“Nope, I never do,” I say, and Prim laughs. She shakes her head, and moves to pick some thyme. I see the flash of a blue wing above us.

“Well, you might want a home of your own one day,” she says, her tone thoughtful. I take her hand. My little sister hasn’t even seen sixteen years yet, but sometimes she seems much older. I guess becoming a healer like our mother has matured her.

“This is my home, Prim.” I give her hand a gentle squeeze.

“Yes,” she says. “But you don’t have to worry so much. I’m getting older too, you know. And mother is…”

I raise an eyebrow.

“Well, she’s doing better,” Prim says defensively. I snort, throwing some rosemary in her basket.

“When Father left, he said that I had to–” I start.

“I remember.” She looks at me sadly. “But you have to let go of his words someday, Katniss.”

She stands and brushes dirt off her faded dress, then glances down at her basket. “I think this is enough.”

Prim takes the herbs inside and I follow. My bow leans against the far side of the living room, and I figure I’ll need to restring it tonight. It used to belong to my father, but he didn’t take it with him when he left to fight in the war against the Thirteenth Kingdom. I sometimes wonder if he would’ve come back if he took it instead of the battered sword they issued to all of the poor soldiers.

I kneel by the fireplace, but I almost drop the matches at the sight of the beaked mask that looms out of the darkness. Behind the cruel curve of the beak are the vacant blue eyes of my mother. She sits motionless in the shadows, wearing the mask in preparation for the evening healing rounds.

Last Sunday, three men came to our door bearing a fourth who was covered in boils and reeking of pus. Not long after, more patients arrived at our door, and the smell of death settled over our house like a suffocating mist. By the seventh patient, Mother sent me to the market for masks. A man from the Third Kingdom sold them to me with the promise that they would protect against any foul pestilence.

At the kitchen table, Prim grabs her mask and begins to fill it with the herbs, sliding her thin arm into the beak. I light the wood in the fireplace, blowing on the flames as they start to catch, the familiar scent of wood smoke filling the room.

“Katniss?” Prim calls me over. She holds the mask to her face, while I tie the strings tightly over her blonde hair.

When I say goodbye to my sister on the front step, I have to bend awkwardly around the beak to give her a hug. She’ll be visiting the tailor, who has recently fallen sick with black boils. I know as well as anyone he’ll be dead by morning, but Prim says even the dying deserve a healer by their side.

“Be careful, and don’t take off the mask,” I order.

She huffs. “I know,” she says, her voice muffled. “Will you take an offering to the temple today?”

It’s my turn to huff. I don’t like wasting coins to buy offerings when we have so little. But Prim has faith in the patron goddess of our kingdom, and she’s taken offerings every week to the temple ever since our father died. She grasps my hand and I agree reluctantly.

“You’re the best sister in the thirteen kingdoms,” she says.

“I’ll see you soon,” I say. Prim and Mother walk down the dirt road towards the outskirts of town, and I’m alone.

Across the street, our neighbor Haymitch nods at me. His face is creased with age and his grey eyes are sunken. Haymitch went to the war too, as an advisor to the king. Now Haymitch raises mockingjays, cultivating their inky blue feathers to be sold as an offering. I know Prim would appreciate some feathers, so I stride across the street.

“How much for an offering?” I ask.

Haymitch plucks a coin from my palm, and hands me a bouquet of feathers and daisies wrapped with twine. I give him a nod and head up the hill.

I’m out of breath by the time I reach the temple. The structure’s stone foundation looms up, its stones glowing with a soft orange light as the sun lowers into the horizon. In truth, the temple is not yet half built, although most of the stone pillars have been constructed, reaching higher than any house in Twelve. I pick my way between stacks of bricks and piles of shovels.

There’s another reason I don’t like to visit the temple, although I won’t admit it to Prim. Father used to work here, helping to build it stone by stone. The construction began when he was a boy, after a peace treaty was signed across the thirteen kingdoms. As a token of good faith, each kingdom was to build a temple honoring the new peace.

No sooner had the last stone of the foundation been set than Father was called away to war.

I stop in front of the high altar. The wall beyond the altar is decorated by the beginnings of a carving of all the gods and goddesses. They stand crowded around a feast, the table sagging under the weight of a sumptuous dinner. I can see the half-carved god of the Tenth kingdom, a calf at his feet. The ax of the goddess of Seven leans against a table leg. In the corner, a goddess leans against a pillar, delicate ringlets around her shoulders. Her head is seemingly thrown back in laughter although her face has not yet been carved. Her careless posture seems at odds with the whip around her waist.

I don’t want to linger, so I lay down the feathers and pray for our town’s sick and dying. I ask the goddess for healing in our lands.

But I should have prayed for Prim, because she gets sick the very next day.

 

* * *

  
It starts as a fever.

We lay Prim in her pallet on the floor, where she shivers and sweats all day. Mother tends to Prim while grinding herbs and coaxing her to drink broth. I pace the floor.

When night falls, I sit by her side and dab her forehead with a wet cloth as she falls into a restless sleep. I must have dozed off because when I wake, the hard wood of the floor presses into my cheek. Moonlight streams through the window illuminating Prim’s face. I’m reaching for the cloth on her forehead when I see them.

Boils. Boils everywhere. Some as large as a fist, some smaller, all the mottled blue-black color of a bruise and a certain sign that her hours are numbered. I press a hand to her forehead; it’s hot as an ember. I’m not a healer like Mother or Prim, but I know the signs of death when I see them. I grip her hand in mine, unable to move.

I see another time, another place when the army of Twelve returned from the war. My family waited on the street, waving strips of fabric in the victory parade. We all knew there was no real victory, just a stalemate, as both armies retreated. I remember searching the faces of every soldier for my father. As the last soldiers staggered in, my mother began to shudder and Prim burst into sobs. I didn’t cry, but gripped Prim’s hand tightly, just as tightly as I’m holding her hand now. Except instead of losing my father, it’s my sister’s life that’s slipping through my fingers.

I fly out of the house. I run and run, weaving through the streets of our town, dodging piles of hay and wheelbarrows. I keep running and my lungs are burning and my calves are screaming but I can’t stop.

I know there’s nowhere to go, no human who can save her. Every single one of my mother’s boil-ridden patients have died, some in less than a day. When I finally stop running, I find myself at the temple. I look around in a daze. I never held much faith in the gods, but if they favor anyone, it would be Prim. Wildflowers peek out of the grass, and I gather some into a hasty offering, my hands trembling.

The temple is quiet, with only one candle lit on the high altar next to a small statue of our patron goddess. The dark eyes of the statue are kind. She holds out one hand in a blessing, the three middle fingers together. Her robes and hair are edged in silver paint. I lay down my meager offering on the high altar and fall to my knees on the cold marble floor.

“Please save her,” I whisper. “Please don’t take her from me.”

The temple is as still as a grave. Only the howling of the wind can be heard outside, and the one flickering candle sputters and then gives out.

I fumble in my pocket for a match, but a sound outside catches my attention. From the temple door I see a cloaked rider on horseback on the road below.

As they come closer, I see that both horse and rider emanate a silver glow, as if starlight is tangled around them, just like the statue of our patron. I shake my head to rid myself of the vision but the rider still approaches. It’s as if my prayer has been answered, and hope leaps in my chest.

I run into the road.

“Stop!” I lunge in front of the horse, and it rears up. I dodge the horse’s front hooves as they hit the ground. “Stop, please!”

“Step back, child,” says a woman.

“Please! My sister is dying. She needs help.”

The rider brushes back her hood, fixing me with a stare. Her robes are the color of rust. Silver ringlets curl over her shoulders, the exact color of the stars. A half-veil obscures the top of her face, although I can see eyes glittering beyond the red fabric.

“My prices are too high for you. Step aside.”

“I’ll do anything,” I say. “What do you want? I’ll give you anything I have.”

“So many mortals say that, and yet so few are truly willing to pay the price.” The goddess shakes her head. “I want what you want. If you want to save a life, then you must give me one in return.”

I’m sure I’ve seen this goddess before. One goddess is well known for hiding her eyes.

“Justice?” I whisper.

The goddess sneers. “My sister.” She waves a hand dismissively, then frowns. “You seek my help but don’t know who I am?”

If it isn’t Justice, then it can only be one other.

“Calmonia,” I whisper. Also known as Revenge, and the patron of the Thirteenth Kingdom. 

“Finally caught on, have we?” The goddess laughs, the sound like the crack of a whip. “I can give you want you want, daughter of Twelve. But will you truly exchange your life for hers?”

I don’t care who this goddess is, as long as she helps Prim.

“I will,” I say. Calmonia gives me a hard look. I think of Prim burning up of fever at home, and know I’d do anything to give her more time.

She dismounts and steps close to me. I don’t step back.

“We have a deal.” Calmonia brings her hands together and closes her eyes, tipping her head back so the moonlight shines fully on her face. I can hear the whispering of wind through the trees. A burning light appears around the hands of the goddess, and I shield my eyes.

When the light finally dies down, I see the goddess extending one palm towards me. In the center lies a small bronze disc hanging from a silver chain.

“A coin?”

“It’s fitting; don’t you agree? People would pay anything for more time, yet so few appreciate its true value.”

“The value of living?”

“Exactly. Can’t put a price on it, can you?” She grins, and her teeth flash in the moonlight. “Or maybe you can. You can take this, little girl, but I’ll collect my debt at dawn.”

I take the coin necklace, gripping it tightly. It’s surprisingly heavy.

“Give it to your sister. As long as she wears it, she will be safe.” Revenge mounts her horse, and digs her heels into the horse’s side. “Say your goodbyes now. I’ll find you at dawn.”

The goddess rides off. I sprint down the mountain path, my heart pounding. I’m going so fast I lose my balance and trip over a rock, but there is no time to tend to the blood prickling at my knees. The world is still dark, but I know I have precious minutes left before dawn breaks.

There are holes in the ground at the outskirt of the village. Freshly dug dirt is piled high, and I realize that they aren’t holes, but graves dug in preparation for the newest victims of the sickness.

I run even faster, tearing through the streets and gasping for air. When I reach my house, it feels terribly quiet. Prim is right where I left her, sleeping peacefully.

“Wake up,” I say, shaking her shoulder. Even through her shirt, I can feel that she’s as cold as ice. “Prim?” I take her head in my hands, her face so terribly pale.

I smooth her hair, but she doesn’t stir. I try to check her pulse, but can’t find it amidst the boils. I clasp the amulet around her neck, lifting her hair gently out of the way.

I wait for a moment, but she doesn’t wake.

“Prim!” I shout loud enough to wake the town. “Come on,” I say, and I can hear my voice break. “You can’t leave me.”

The coin necklace shines dully, but Prim doesn’t stir. I’m shaking her by both shoulders, and I know she won’t wake up, but if I stop trying I don’t know what I’ll do.

It doesn’t matter how much I shake her. It doesn’t matter that I’d rather be lying where she is now than live without her. None of it matters, because my sister is still as a statue.

The room grows lighter around me, and I hear the sound of hooves outside. I grab the coin necklace and stagger out, my whole body shaking. Calmonia leans against her horse, her arms crossed.

“It’s time,” she says.

I can feel the anger welling up inside.

“It didn’t work,” I spit. The necklace hangs heavy in my fingers, and I let it slip to the ground.

“You’d throw my gift in the dirt?” Anger flashes in her eyes, and I almost feel afraid, until I remember Prim’s cold hands.

“It was useless!” I yell. “She’s dead, don’t you see that? She’s dead!”

“Everyone dies. She died, your father died, you’ll die too. Death is terribly predictable.”

I want to throw things, to slap the smirk right off her face, even if she is a deity.

“You knew, didn’t you? That I wouldn’t make it in time?” I don’t need to wait for her to answer, as the truth is in the way her smile slips.

“You tricked me! A life for a life, you said, and I gave you mine, but you’ve taken – you’ve taken…” I’m so angry I can’t speak. Without thinking, I snatch the amulet off the ground and hurl it right at Revenge’s head.

Both of us are stunned when my aim meets its target.

I want to run but find my feet are frozen to the ground. Calmonia picks up the coin slowly, so slowly that fear drips into my stomach.

“You’ve gone too far, mortal. You’re ungrateful, throwing away something so many would die for.” The goddess approaches slowly, and drapes the necklace around my neck. I try to open my mouth to yell, but I can’t move.

“I don’t know how the universe will end, but you’ll be there to see it.”

The coin is burning against my skin. I can move again as I scrabble at my neck.

“I wouldn’t do that, if I were you.”

I yell as the coin scorches my fingertips. At my throat it’s painful, but on my fingertips it is unbearable.

“Maybe someday you’ll appreciate my gift. I know you’ll have plenty of time.” The goddess sneers, then mounts her horse. A flash of light blinds me and then she’s gone.

I sink to the cobblestones, the coin like a rope of fire at my neck. Through the blackness at the edges of my vision I see a water trough. When I splash the water against my throat, it brings no relief.

Finally, when I’m sure I can stand it no longer, daylight seeps through the town streets and the coin grows cold. The last thing I see is the inscription on its surface:

 _Love is to pain as flesh is to bone;_  
_neither are valued when measured alone._  
_Time’s cage can be broken with love as the key,_  
_when you finally learn what’s real comes for free._

**Author's Note:**

> I cannot thank my betas enough, their advice was invaluable: 
> 
> To butrfac14, your encouragement means more than I can say;  
> To ally147writes, your advice is worth its weight in gold;  
> To 2ee, your wisdom burns brighter than any torch. 
> 
> Thank you for the prompt, 567inpanem! I have not included the prompt here due to major spoilers.
> 
> Thank you all for reading! I’d love to hear your thoughts on this chapter :)


End file.
